


Heroes and Villains: Of Apathy and Abandonment

by irishlullaby13



Series: Heroes and Villains [11]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 20:50:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12240387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishlullaby13/pseuds/irishlullaby13
Summary: Things were going to be fine.





	Heroes and Villains: Of Apathy and Abandonment

_He'll be fine_ , Abbie tells herself for the fifteenth time since the plane lifted into the sky. 

He seems adjusted to modern things well enough. He went out and enjoyed places. Besides, she's not his babysitter. She's not his nanny. It's not her job to hold his hand and explain the world to him. 

Besides, it wasn't every day one got offered a spot at Quantico. That's where she was heading before all this apocalypse crap got started. So why shouldn't she do it when she was free and clear?

A little space from him is what they both need. They'd been practically joined at the hip for the past ten months--and joined at the pelvis for the last couple.

_He'll be fine_.

Abbie squeezed her eyes shut. Besides she had to sort out these visions she had been getting since London.

And as if on cue the lapel pin on her coat snorted, drawing the attention of the little girl next to her. Abbie cupped her hand over the pin. “Not right now, Boo,” she murmured.

Boo’s eyes popped to full size, the little girl's mouth dropped open. Abbie quickly flung a scarf over the eyes and smiled tersely. “Boo, no,” she hissed as he popped out onto her lap and snorted excitedly. “Boo!”

The little girl tugged on her mother's arm and pointed with big wide eyes. Boo turned into a squishy plush toy just seconds before the mother looked her way.

The mother wrinkled her nose. “That thing is hideous…” 

Abbie scowled at the woman and lightly rubbed Boo’s back. “You're adorable Boo,” she quietly assured as the little girl started insisting it hadn't been a toy moments ago.

She looked out the window, watching the veins of Buenos Aires slow fade from view. Her heart flip flopped and she felt tears sting her eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Abbie closed the window shade.

_He'll be fine_.

  
#  


He was fine. Fine just like the little dog sitting at the table in the comic strip, whilst everything around him was aflame.

She had left a note at least. 

Something had come up back home so she had to leave. A chance to join the federal police. Surely he couldn't expect her to stay when such an amazing opportunity had arisen.

He had sensed something was on her mind most of the day. And his impromptu proposal probably hadn't helped matters.

Ichabod looked at his shaking hands as he stepped out onto the hotel balcony. He peered over the guardrail and considered the 40 floor drop.

All it would take is a little courage and he could lean far enough over to…

_He was fine_.

Courage. Courage.

Ha! If he had any of that he would feel safe walking outside alone. If he had courage, he would be chasing her aeroplane down the runway. If he had courage, the walls of the suite wouldn't be slowly moving inward, confining him to the space.

Ichabod grabbed several bottles off the bar and found a corner to take sanctuary in. He slid to the floor and hugged his knees to his chest. It did nothing to stop the sudden feeling of everything closing in on him. 

He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breaths as he counted backwards from thirty, taking a drink at each increment of ten.

_He was fine_.

When he opened his eyes he could see an aeroplane gliding across the sky through the balcony doors. He wondered if his beloved Siren was onboard. His heart sank and tears burned his eyes. 

The panic had passed. 

But the heaviness of spirit remained. He had tried too hard, a small voice in his head said. He knew she was skittish when it came to love. He should have known better than to properly romance her. He shouldn't have told her he loved her. He shouldn't have proposed marriage. He shouldn't have mentioned wanting see her with silver in her hair. 

His mind kept adding to the list of things he shouldn't have done. Ichabod twisted the cap off of the next miniature bottle of whiskey.

_He was fine_.

  
#  


“You did _what_?”

Abbie stared indifferently at Joe and Jenny as they yelled out their question. Honestly, it surprised her that Jenny was as shocked as Joe. Next she knew Joe was on his phone booking a flight to Buenos Aires and Jenny was ranting about leaving mentally unstable people alone.

“Then again, leaving crazy people alone to fend for themselves is something you seem to be good at,” Jenny snapped.

That was when Abbie felt like she had been stabbed in the chest. “You don't even like the guy,” Abbie argued.

“Yeah but I wouldn't leave someone with agoraphobia in a strange city, in a strange country without any means of getting to their safe space,” Jenny groused. “No matter how much I hate them.”

“He was fine,” Abbie squeaked. “You've seen some of the pictures. He was outside. He was enjoying himself. He wasn't nervous being out in the world.”

Jenny groaned, threw her hands into the air, and left the room yelling something about that not being how things work. 

Joe, having finally finished a round of calls, looked at her pointedly. “He was outside _with you_. He was enjoying himself _with you_. Me, you, and the Ouchi-Jackson’s are literally the only people he feels safe with when outside.”

If Abbie thought about it, she knew this was true. She'd be dumb not to realize it. But she knew she had to put space between them. It was bad enough that he was in love with her. If she admitted it, she ran because she thought maybe she was catching feelings of her own for him.

Was she really the sole reason he had been able to make it outside this whole time?

No… it couldn't be. He had gone down the street alone in Athens to go get a couple of gyros for their lunch… Hell, he had _offered_ to let her rest while he fetched them. So it wasn't like she forced him out of the hotel rooms.

“According to room service he's only called once to have the mini bar restocked,” Joe commented. “I'm heading there now to bring him back home. My plane leaves around midnight.”

“He's fine,” Abbie said quietly.

“You better hope so,” Joe said flatly then grabbed his keys and left.

  
#  


Ichabod’s eyes slowly fluttered opened and then he squeezed them shut again against the brightness of light. He was aware of three things:

Warmth underneath his cheek.

Fingers stroking his hair.

An empty ache in the back of his brain.

After a moment he realized he was laying stomach down with his head laying on a woman's lap. Her brown legs were stretched out in his field of vision. Her feet were bare and grass stained. They were under a tree, surrounded by a field of wildflowers.

Had he died and gone to Heaven?

“Not yet,” a familiar but strange voice intoned. “But you are close. The only time one can see me or be near me is when they are too close to the veil or when they are near a place where the veil is thin.”

Ichabod slowly turned over and blinked up at a face haloed by sunlight. He blinked until the face came into perfect focus. The Siren’s lovely face smiled down at him as she brushed his hair away from his face.

No… no. This was not his Siren. There was lovely, fine lines on her face and streaks of silver in her curls. She looked like his Siren, just as beautiful, but older.

“I'm the spirit of one of her former selves,” the woman said tenderly. “Morrigan of the Fae, guardian of the veil between life and death. You must return soon.”

“I do not wish to,” Ichabod whispered.

“It is not an option,” Morrigan said. “I am trying to right that which I did wrong before I died, in a moment of grief.” She was silent a long moment. “I cannot promise she will ever love you. But I can tell you, I am the reason her heart is so protected.”

He grasped her hand and held it to his chest. Ichabod’s gazed travelled up her arm, he scowled at the jagged cut that stretched from her palm to the bend of her elbow.

“Blood magic,” Morrigan said. “It is powerful magic. I wanted to make certain no one could break my heart ever again, in any life. And for that, I am sorry. But if your heart is true, the spell can be overcome. It will just take time and determination on your part.”

“Perhaps there is another which could make her happier than I,” he suggested.

Morrigan smiled and shook her head. “Silly human. You are what makes her happy in any lifetime. It's been that way since the dawn of time itself,” she said. “Now wake up, and never stop showing her your heart. Show her it's hers for the taking. Perhaps one day she may take it. Because your love for her will be the one thing that can save the world.”

Ichabod shook his head. “She will never love me…”

“You need to wake, Ichabod,” Morrigan whispered. “How can she start loving you if you are gone? Wake up... Ichabod.”

Ichabod felt a pull at the back of his mind. The bright light filled his vision and the feel of Morrigan’s warmth faded. Soon he felt oxygen fill his lungs and another bright light, like a light at the end of a tunnel loomed before him. He could barely make out a silhouette behind the light.

“There we are,” a voice said, it sounded miles away. A male voice. “Come on, Ichabod. Let's sit up…”

After a moment he felt himself being hoisted to sitting up.

“Whoa!” the voice exclaimed, suddenly crystal clear. It was young master Corbin. 

Ichabod blinked in confusion as the young man came into focus. Joseph was mopping at his trousers with a towel. “It's not the worst thing a patient expelled onto me,” Joe said with a gentle laugh. “There was this one guy in Afghanistan that had let an infection get so bad that when I checked on it… it practically exploded. Well, not practically. It did explode. It was disgusting. Way much more disgusting than a little alcohol poisoning.”

Joe knelt down in front of him. “Can you talk, Ich or is your throat too dry from the vomiting?”

Ichabod found he could merely stare at Joe but had not the energy to speak or try to mop away the dampness on his own face and clothes. No matter how much he tried to will his hands to move, it would not budge.

That was a welcome reprieve from the normal fidgeting his hands would do. But it would be nice to be capable of _some_ movement.

“Let's try some water,” Joe suggested, then reached into a bag to retrieve a bottle of water. 

Joe twisted off the cap and carefully assisted him with consuming a small amount. Ichabod wasn't certain how much time elapsed as his friend tended to him, but by time the bottle was empty his fingers had started to flex against his leg and his mind was a little less foggy.

Joe brought out a small light and flashed the tiny beam into Ichabod’s eyes. “You're still drunk as shit,” Joe commented. “But I'm going to be keeping an eye on you. I'm going to make sure you won't die.”

Ichabod felt his body shudder and something akin to a laugh escaped his lips. “Let me,” he rasped. 

Joe cocked a brow. “No. For one, Carol and Latisha would kill me if I let that happen. Second, Abbie would kill me if I let that happen. Third, Abbie would never forgive herself if I let you.” He paused for a moment. “Think you can walk?”

For a moment, Ichabod looked around. Evidently he had tripped over a woman's brassire and fallen to the floor. There was a puddle of vomit where his face had been--not to mention the fresh puddle between his knees. Despite that, he shook his head.

He could barely feel his legs and feet, much less stand upon them. He closed his eyes when responding made his stomach twist.

“More water,” Joe stated.

Several hours, more sickness, and more bottles of water later, Ichabod came to terms with the idea that he was going to be okay.

  
#  


Her mind was on another beach on the other side of the world.

Abbie stared out over the sand, lit only by the moon. All she could see was a barefoot, intoxicated man in colonial costuming falling face first into wet sand. The thought made her smile.

“You're so beautiful when you smile.”

Abbie jumped slightly, having for a moment, forgotten Danny was there. That she wasn't on some exotic beach somewhere far away, waiting for Ichabod to finish cooking dinner.

Danny handed her a beer and stood beside her. Unlike the other nights they had spent at the little bungalow, he didn't try to put his arm around her. 

This had been meant to be a romantic getaway for her and Danny after all the heat that had been building between them during training. But then Abbie had found the beach distracting. Sitting on the kitchen counter made tears spring to her eyes.

Then the idea of romance just sort of fizzled out as everything reminded her of places like Hawaii, Sydney, and Greece. Any time she closed her eyes, when Danny kissed her, she found herself thinking that his lips weren't as soft. She would note that he didn't lightly trail his fingers on her jaw as he kissed her. She didn't like how he was more rough and possessive rather than lingering and exploratory.

This _fling_ was meant to make her realize she could be with anyone she wanted. There were people out there that could make her heart sing, people that were not Captain Ichabod Crane.

She wanted to make herself believe that maybe it was just that her and Danny were just better suited as friends. Maybe she could try putting herself back on the dating scene…

“Look, Danny,” Abbie started. “You're a great guy and I know we took this little escape to see if maybe something was there…”

Danny cracked a half smile. “Is this where you say it's you, not me, that I deserve to be happy but it's just not going to happen with you? Then make some vague excuse about needing to go home?”

Abbie looked away, her face burning with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. Irritation because he sounded just a little condescending. Embarrassment because that was literally what she had been planning to do.

Danny shrugged. “We came here to see if there was something,” he said gently. “Obviously there wasn't.” He held up his bottle in salute. “No hard feelings?”

“No hard feelings,” Abbie echoed and tapped her bottle against his. “But I really do need to go home.”

“I won't try to stop you,” Danny said, barely above a whisper. He took her hand and kissed it, an act that made tears threaten to pour from her eyes. “Just promise me, whoever they are, you let yourself love them.”

Abbie blinked. She scoffed softly and looked away before glancing back up at Danny. For a moment she saw him clad in white and gold, radiating like the sun. She shook her head. “I can't make that kind of promise--” for a moment she almost called him Utu but caught herself “--Danny.”

She added that name on to the list of ones that had been running through her brain since London.

Danny finally moved closer and put his arm around her. He placed a chaste kiss in the middle of her forehead. “You deserve to be happy, Abbie,” he murmured, then stepped away.

Abbie sucked in a breath and looked back out over the beach. The sky had turned to a velvety dark blue and was starting to take on faint hues of pink and red at the horizon.

She blinked away the vision dark, fathomless eyes and fire.

Taking a deep breath, she couldn't help but wonder if she really did deserve to be happy.

  
#  


Ichabod stared blankly out of the small window next to his seat. He shivered and pulled his coat around him a little tighter. When he had been journeying with the Siren, watching cities fade into and emerge from the clouds had been a source of excitement. He had squeezed her hand and tried to get her to look--and she would feign a fear of heights but would always end up looking and sighing with awe.

He felt no joy as he watched the city of Miami grow larger. There was no urge to get Joseph to gander at the tall buildings and subdivisions coming into view.

When he was shuffled from the plane and to another waiting area, he was simply there. He was simply walking where directed, sitting where he was led to, stood in line to board the next flight when need be. 

Occasionally food and drink was thrust into his hands. Ichabod generally just stared at the items, set them aside, and left them forgotten. Unless Joseph dictated it was time to eat at least a few bites.

At which that point, Ichabod would force himself to consume a bite or two and drink a bottle of water.

It had taken him nearly a week to be well enough for travel. The numbness he felt now, he knew, had naught to do with the so called alcohol poisoning. This feeling permeated all the way to the centre of his soul.

This was nothing compared to what he felt when he had plunged the Siren’s dagger into his late wife's chest. There had been regret and sadness, yes. Emptiness even. Though he didn't wish to admit it, there had also been a rush of… relief. Freedom. As though a spell had been lifted with her demise.

Taking the life of his wife… that was easy, apparently.

Getting abandoned by the Siren--whom he loved so deeply, despite the fact she warned him against it--that brought the deepest cut to his soul and being. He had no desire to continue, knowing he had no hope of her reciprocating his love. He would sooner face the horseman and tell Abraham of Katrina’s demise than to venture on without the Siren’s love.

His hand dipped into the pocket of his coat and pulled out the necklace that he had selected for his late wife oh so long ago. It occurred to him that he should return it to its rightful owner.

As he studied the necklace, it occurred to him that perhaps the only love he deserved was one that involved his being deceived and lied to. Perhaps he didn't deserve the kind of love his Siren could provide. 

Though he knew she kept parts of her--her heart especially--shrouded, he felt she had always been honest. The little fibs she did tell were always tongue in cheek. She made it obvious they were lies. And that she was doing it just to tease him.

He thought about the vision he'd had before Joe woke him. 

Had that simply been a fever dream or had it been an actual vision? Was it real or had his mind compiled a ghostly image from his thoughts and told him what he wanted to be true?

Was it possible the Siren might someday love him? 

He tucked the necklace back into his pocket. He shook his head. No. It wasn't possible. She'd warned him many times. She would only ever hurt him.

If she would be willing to love him… he would gladly take the pain. 

After all, he thought as he leaned his head back against his seat, a love based on how much he was willing to hurt was what he deserved, wasn't it?

  
#  


Jenny was still pissed at her. And rightfully so.

Abbie was now at least willing to see that, in this case, she had been a dick. And she fully intended to apologize. As soon as she could find the Captain, that is.

She had broke into the manor, scoured the basement and all the rooms only to find them empty. Abbie was making her way toward the front door when she heard voices in the kitchen. She reached to her hip, where her enchanted dagger rested in its sheath.

Slowly, she crept toward the kitchen door.

“ _Joe said he was here_ ,” a squeaky, obviously female voice said on the other side. “ _And he's not answering his phone_.”

“ _That's not a legal reason to break into his house, Carol,_ ” another female voice responded, this one slightly deeper and very much not amused.

“ _The door was unlocked. Besides, I am his therapist, Tishy,_ ” the squeaky one stated. “ _I am concerned for his mental health and well being_.” She growled in frustration. “ _So help me gee gosh darn… if I ever see that Siren… I'm gonna give her these fists. He was starting to improve and she… grr_.”

Abbie pushed the kitchen door open. “If you ever see that Siren, what?” she asked dryly.

The tiny Japanese woman squealed in shock and Abbie narrowly avoided getting hit with a flying mango. The taller, broad shouldered black woman looming behind her grabbed her chest and gasped, “Good Lord… don't scare a person like that.”

Except she didn't say ‘person’.

Abbie blinked at the smaller woman. “What was this about some fists?”

The smaller woman stalked over and pointed her finger in Abbie's face. “Listen here, bitch,” the woman squeaked. “Captain Crane is a good friend of mine and Tishy’s… and he was recovering from severe emotional and mental abuse when you just up and leave him alone and helpless.”

Abbie wasn't sure why, but she burst into laughter. There was something amusing about someone half a foot shorter than her coming at her. Then it occurred to Abbie that this is what it must be what the bad guys felt like when she confronted them.

The tinier woman put her fists on her hips and huffed. “What do you have to say for yourself, Abigail Mills?”

Abbie could feel the blood drain from her face. They knew who she was? She blinked and shook her head. “Look, I came here to apologize _to him_.” 

She moved to go around the shorter woman. But Carol stepped back in front of her and nudged Abbie's shoulder. “If you think for one second I'm going to let you near my pa--”

“Carol,” Tish intoned.

“Near Ichabod--who is a dear friend and is in no way my patient and has never gotten any kind of psychological treatments or therapy from me because if I admitted such it would be a grievous breach of patient confidentiality--” Carol amended. “You have another thing coming, Missy…”

Abbie arched her brows. “How are you going to stop me from way down there?”

Tish looked around and nudged toward the kitchen stairs. “I'm just… going to…” she pointed toward the stairs. “Get myself away from the battle of the short stacks.”

Undeterred, Carol poked Abbie's shoulder again. “I will not let you hurt that sweet, sweet man. You… you… _harlot_. You're just as bad as that red headed wench. Hurting him.”

Abbie sucked in a sharp breath. “Look. I don't know who you think you are… or how you know who I am.”

Carol tucked her hair behind her ear daintily. “Carol Ouchi-Jackson,” the woman humphed. “Me and Tish both know you from when you used to visit Jenny at Tarrytown. We were both nurses.”

Abbie sighed and rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Fact is, I'm going to apologize for what i did as soon as I can find him. After that, patient or not, it's none of your damn business what me and him do or don't do.”

“You better fucking apologize,” Carol squeaked. “And if you think for one second Tish and I will let you keep our friend away from us like Clifford and Evil Bunch did…”

Abbie held her hands up. “I'm not going to be keeping him from anyone. We're not even romantically involved. I've told him time and again that he and I are never gonna be a thing. So he needs to stop thinking it'll happen. But, he's his own person, capable of making his own bad decisions.”

Carol blinked at her and cocked her head. “So… how long would you say you've had these feelings that you want to keep people from getting close to you? Would you say it started when your dad left or when your mom died? Would you say it's fear that everything you love dies or that it's fear of abandonment?”

“ _Carol_ ,” Tish’s voice intoned from the stairwell. “ _You're not at work so stop analyzing folks_.”

Abbie folded her arms over her chest and stared hard at the other woman. “I'm inclined to agree with your friend.”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say because both women, at the same time barked, “Wife!” 

Tish came trudging down the steps and pointed her flashlight at Abbie. “Though, yes, Carol and I have a relationship based on love and friendship, we are married, thank you.”

“Wait… you two are that lesbian couple he kept talking about,” Abbie asked. “The ones that kept telling him to tell me about his feelings.”

Carol pointed her finger in Abbie's face. “Oh no you don't. You are not making all of this our fault. You're the one that ripped his little heart out.”

“I'm going to go check the Archives,” Abbie stated. “I've checked every inch of this place. He's not here. If you find him first, tell him I need to speak to him, will you?”

“I'll think about it,” Carol snipped, jutting her nose into the air.

Tish sighed loudly. “We'll tell him.” She cast a glance at her wife. “But I can't promise Carol won't interject a few choice phrases.”

“I'm fine with that,” Abbie said flatly.

When she gave Carol a stony glare, the shorter woman scowled and gave her a gesture to indicate she had her eyes on her. Abbie gave her a gesture of her own.

  
#  


Captain Ichabod Crane was not at the Archives. Captain Ichabod Crane was in the middle of the forest on his knees. He had swept aside the bed of rotting leaves to make a circle in front of him and drawn the symbol for Death in the damp soil. At his side was an old spell book, detailing the process of summoning a spirit or entity.

Three items: a personal effect, a token from a friend, and the blood of an enemy.

Ichabod gingerly laid the necklace at the center of the circle. _A personal effect_. 

Ichabod drew a pocket knife from his coat. Drawing in a deep breath, Ichabod opened the knife. He reached behind his head with both hands, with one he grasped his ponytail, with the other he cut above the leather thong restraining his hair. He dropped the severed ponytail onto the circle. _A token from a friend_.

Taking a deep breath, Ichabod carefully cut the tip of his finger. He held his hand over the circle and encouraged droplets of blood to fall into the other items. _The blood of an enemy_.

Ichabod plopped the cut finger into his mouth as he picked up the grimoire with his free hand. Now it was time to see if he had the ability to perform magic. He pulled his finger from his mouth and recited the Latin in his late wife's tidy writing.

The spell was a basic summoning spell but perhaps it would work. For a moment he had the absurd thought that perhaps the Horseman--albeit much smaller--would simply materialize in the small circle he had made. The thought made Ichabod snort and chuckle.

He cleared his throat and repeated the incantation twice more. A small breeze whispered through the leaves. When Ichabod looked up the woman in white stood on the other side of the circle.

“What have you done,” she whispered. “Death is coming for you, Ichabod. You're not strong enough to fight him yet.”

“I have no desire to fight Death,” Ichabod murmured. “My wish is for Death to take me. So that someone worthy of the Siren’s love can take my place.”

The woman rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You always do have a flare for dramatics.” She ground out words in an ancient tongue and Ichabod felt a chill coursed down his spine. She disappeared in a flurry of dragonflies.

In the distance Ichabod heard the cry of the Horseman’s mount. When he raised his head he saw the white horse and it's rider slowly approaching. Ichabod scrambled for the necklace and put it around his neck. He sucked in a breath as Abraham's face appeared.

Abraham's pale eyes were hard as steel and a scowl was etched on his face as he drew his horse to a halt before dismounting. He pulled his axe from his back and stalked toward Ichabod.

“Katrina is gone,” Ichabod stated. “I thought you would care to know.”

Abraham came to a stop. He jutted his chin up stubbornly. “How?” he asked darkly.

“She had started regaining her powers and tried to use them to go back in time and fix things, as it were. When she returned I killed her by my own hand,” Ichabod replied. A storm entered the eyes of his former friend. “I suppose you may be wondering why I summoned you to tell you this.”

Abraham regarded him for a moment. “I would love nothing more than to chop you to bits, Ichabod,” he said coolly. “But that would be giving you what you want. And I would much prefer to watch you suffer and live with your regret.”

Ichabod cracked a smile. “That’s just it, Abraham, I do not regret it in the least. Not when it saved the life of someone I love.”

“The Siren,” Abraham growled. “You murdered Katrina to spare the life of that--”

A thunderous voice called out Abraham’s name. The voice growled and snarled in an ancient tongue, making Abraham smirk. “Even better,” Abraham sneered. “An even better fate than living your pitiful mortal life… living forever. Tell me, Ichabod, how will it feel knowing you will never have The Siren’s love for all eternity?”

As Abraham dragged him to his feet, Ichabod couldn’t help but think that it was oddly appropriate that this was going in no way how he had planned.


End file.
